we got our feet on the ground
by holistic details
Summary: a series of unrelated drabbles featuring the warehouse team.


_updates will be infrequent at best._

_title from 'girl on fire' by alicia keys._

* * *

"_No_," Pete says, arms folded across his chest. "You are sick and you can't work when you're sick."

Myka wants to shoot back a _Watch me_ but her throat hurts too much to speak right this second. She contents herself with throwing a pillow at his head.

"Ow!"

Like that hurt. Myka refrains from rolling her eyes.

"Look, you're going to have to take it easy today, so just – just sit pretty and deal with it." Myka huffs, and Pete turns to rummage in her closet for extra blankets, still hanging on to the pillow.

Myka absolutely does not pout at his back.

Abigail pauses in the doorway. She's holding a tray with a bowl of soup and a tall glass of orange juice. "Everything okay?"

"Did you hear us arguing from the hall?" Pete asks.

"We heard Myka whooping your ass from the hall," Claudia says, poking her head in behind Abigail. "We came to rescue you."

"Yeah, she's been brutalizing me all morning." He holds up the pillow as proof. Myka rolls her eyes and Claudia grins at her.

"Hey, Mykes. Feeling any better?"

Myka nods, ignoring the way her vision goes slightly fuzzy with the movement.

"Cool." She rocks on her heels, hands fists inside her coat pockets. "I'm gonna head out soon. Lunch with Mrs. F again."

"Does that ever stop being pants-wettingly scary?" Pete asks.

"She's all rainbows and sunshine with me," Claudia says innocently. "Last week I helped her adopt a fluffy little kitten."

Pete throws the pillow at her. Abigail catches it mid-air, balancing the tray with remarkable grace. "That's enough!" she says sternly. She makes her way to Myka's bed and presents her with the steaming bowl of soup, voice far gentler when she says, "Here, eat this."

"Is soup eaten or drunk?" Pete frowns.

"It is a liquid," Claudia says.

"Yeah, but the chicken and noodles aren't."

"Which are arguably the best part."

"Exactly. But then again, where would we be without the broth?"

"Shut _up_," Myka croaks, spoon halfway to her mouth, and the beginnings of a headache between her ears.

Abigail fits the pillow between her back and the headboard and Myka shifts unhappily. Pete catches sight of it and claps his hands.

"All right," he says. "We should get to the Warehouse." He tugs at Abigail's elbow. "C'mon. Artie has inventory for us, and Mrs. Frederic will be popping in any minute now."

They nearly collide with Steve in the doorway. "Hey," he says, craning his neck to see past them. He quails under Myka's glare, holding up his hands. "I literally just walked in, I couldn't have done anything wrong."

"Myka just hates being fussed over," Claudia whispers, easily loud enough for Myka to hear.

"I just wanted to make sure everything was okay."

Myka thinks fiercely healthy thoughts in Steve's direction. The effect is probably ruined by the loud sneeze that erupts out of her a second later.

"We'll drop by in the afternoon," Abigail says over her shoulder. "Get some sleep, okay?"

One by one, they all file out. Myka closes her eyes to avoid seeing their worried glances. Not for the first time, she resents the cancer that so recently ravaged her body. She's perfectly fine now – as fine as anyone can be in remission, anyway – but she gets one little cold and everyone reacts like she's back in the hospital.

(It hurts her more than it irritates her, if she's being honest. She thinks of all the waiting rooms, the long nights, the crappy hospital coffee, the endless parade of doctors, having to save the world on top of it all, without her to help and –

She never wants to put them through that again.)

Myka wakes up ravenous.

It's mid-afternoon, and the soup's long gone cold but Myka suffers through a few bites anyway. It starts tasting very gross very quickly so she turns her attention to the packet of crackers on the tray. She drains the glass of orange juice in a few gulps.

Momentarily satisfied, she leans back against the pillows and takes stock: her head is much clearer, but her throat is still a little sore. The various aches and pains in her body have all but disappeared, and she definitely doesn't have a fever.

"You want me to get you something else?"

Myka cuts off a scream.

"Sorry," Claudia says, stretching a little in Myka's desk chair. "Mrs. F is running late, and everyone else is at the Warehouse – well, actually, I think Steve's getting pipes from the hardware store; Artie wanted him to replace the plumbing of something or other – but everyone else." Myka blinks, and Claudia takes a breath. "Anyway, I thought I'd keep the little guy company." She gestures to Pete the ferret, fast asleep in his hammock.

"'M okay," Myka says. Her voice is scratchy and rough from sleep, and she's suddenly very glad she keeps a bottle of water on her nightstand. She screws off the cap and studies the slouch of Claudia's shoulders.

"You sure you don't want anything to eat?"

"S'okay."

"Drink?"

"Just had orange juice," Myka reminds her.

"Oh. Right." Claudia picks at the hem of her sweater. Okay then, Myka thinks.

"Mrs Frederic doesn't usually run late," she ventures.

"Nope," comes the reply.

The direct approach usually works best, Myka's learned. "Anything you wanna tell me?"

"Nope. Yeah. No." Claudia worries at her bottom lip, and she looks far younger than she is. Something tender tugs at Myka. "I don't know."

"You wanna come here?"

Claudia is halfway across the room before Myka remembers. "Wait!" Claudia stops dead. "I'm sick, you can't – "

"Oh. Right." Claudia rocks back on her heels. She makes to shove her hands into her pockets, realizes she's not wearing her coat, and lets her hands dangle awkwardly at her sides.

Myka lets this last for about a second before – "Oh, come here." She holds up the blanket and Claudia crawls underneath it.

"Better?" Myka asks.

"Too hot," Claudia replies, kicking off the blanket and stretching out on top.

They sit in silence for a while.

"I have a sister."

Myka starts, turning wide eyes on Claudia. "I thought – the car accident? Both your parents and your sister – "

"You thought wrong," Claudia says shortly. "We all did. Except Artie, who always knew about it. I guess Mrs. F. did, too. And the Regents."

Claudia sets her jaw in a way that reminds Myka of the rare times that Pete is well and truly pissed off.

"Mrs Frederic is going to introduce you two," Myka guesses. "But why didn't Artie tell us about her? Unless he thought – I mean, is she –?" She works the words in her mouth until they resemble something like tact. "Not a nice person?"

Another long pause, which Myka takes as confirmation.

"I don't want to meet her."

"She is your sister," Myka says at length.

"You're my sister." Claudia pauses. "I mean, I like Abigail and all, but –" she cuts herself off, frustrated. "You're my sister."

"Mrs Frederic won't make you meet her."

"I know."

"It's okay to be confused."

"I know."

Myka pauses, stumped. She shifts in surprise when the warm weight of Claudia's head comes to rest on her shoulder.

"Okay," Myka says vaguely. She gives up on keeping her germs away from Claudia and kisses her hair, a light peck. Claudia scoots over until she's pressed into Myka's side.

Her hands are cold against Myka's stomach, and clenched into tight fists. Myka wriggles an arm free, and wraps it around Claudia's shoulders.

Eventually, Claudia's hands unclench, but Myka doesn't let go.


End file.
